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Do well thrive by them; and when they have lin'd their (Coats,

Do themselves Homage, Thefe Fellows have fome Soul,
And fuch a one do I profefs my felf. For, Sir,
It is as fure as you are Rodorigo,

Were I the Moor, I would not be Fago:
In following him, I follow but my felf.
Heav'n is my Judge, not I, for Love and Duty,
But feeming fo, for my peculiar end:

For when my outward Action doth demonftrate
The native Act and Figure of my Heart
In Complement extern, 'tis not long after
But I will wear my Heart upon my Sleeve,
For Daws to peck at; I am not what I am.

Rod. What a full Fortune does the thick-lips owe.
If he can carry't thus ?

Jago. Call up her Father,

Roufe him, make after him, poifon his Delight.
Proclaim him in the Streets, incenfe her Kinfmen.
And tho' he in a fertile Climate dwell,

Plague him with Flies: Tho' that his Joy be Joy,
Yet throw fuch Chances of Vexation on't,
As it may lofe fome Colour.

Rod. Here is her Father's House, I'll call aloud.
Jaga. Do, with like timorous Accent, and dire yell,
As when, by Night and Negligence, the Fire
Is fpied in populous Cities.

Rod. What ho! Brabantio! Signior Brabantio! ho!
Jago. Awake! what ho! Brabantio! Thieves, Thieves !
Look to your Houfe, your Daughter, and your Bags:
Thieves! Thieves !

Enter Brabantio above.

Bra. What is the reafon of this terrible Summons ?

What is the Matter there?

Rod. Signior, is all your Family within?

Jago. Are your Doors lock'd?

Bra. Why? wherefore ask you this?

Jago. Sir, you're robb'd; for fhame put on your Gown, Your Heart is burft, you have loft half your Soul;

Even now, very now, an old black Ram

Is Tupping your white Ewe. Arise, arife,

1i3

Awake

Awake the fnorting Citizens with the Bell,
Or else the Devil will make a Grandfire of you.
Arife I fay.

Bra. What, have you loft your Wits?

Rod. Moft Reverend Signior, do you know my
Bra. Not I; what are you?

Rod. My Name is Rodorigo.

Bra. The worfer welcome;

I have charg'd thee not to haunt about my Doors:
In honeft plainness thou haft heard me fay,

Voice

My Daughter is not for thee. And now in Madness,
Being full of Supper, and diftempering draughts,
Upon malicious Knavery, doft thou come

To ftart my quiet.

Rod. Sir, Sir, Sir

Bra. But thou must needs be fure,

My Spirits and my Place have in their Power
To make this bitter to thee.

Rod. Patience, good Sir.

Bra. What tell'ft thou me of Robbing? This is Venice: My Houfe is not a Grange.

Rod. Moft grave Brabantio,

In fimple and pure Soul, I come to you.

Fago. Sir, you are one of those that will not ferve God, if the Devil bid you. Becaufe we come to do you Service, and you think we are Ruffians, you'll have your Daugh ter cover'd with a Barbary Horfe, you'll have your Nephews neigh to you, you'll have Courfers for Coufins, and Gennets for Germans,

Bra. What prophane Wretch art thou?

Fago. I am one, Sir, that comes to tell you, your Daughter and the Moor are making the Beaft with two Backs. Bra. Thou art a Villain.

Jago. You are a Senator.

Bra. This thou fhalt anfwer. I know thee, Rodorigo. Rod. Sir, I will answer any thing. But I befeech you, If't be your Pleafure, and moft wife confent, As partly I find it is, that your fair Daughter, At this odd Even and dull Watch o'th' Night, Transported with no worfe or better guard, But with a Knave of common hire, a Gundalier,

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To the grofs clafps of a lafcivious Moor:
If this be known to you, and your Allowance,
We then have done you bold and fawcy Wrongs.
But if you know not this, my manners tell me,
We have your wrong Rebuke. Do not believe
That from the sense of all Civility,

I thus would play and trifle with your Reverence.
Your Daughter, if you have not given her leave,
I say again, hath made a grofs Revolt,

Tying her Duty, Beauty, Wit and Fortunes
In an extravagant, and wheeling Stranger,

Of here and every where; ftraight fatisfie your felf.
If the be in your Chamber, or your House,
Let loofe on me the Juftice of the State
For thus deluding you.

Bra. Strike on the Tinder, ho!

Give me a Taper--call up all my People,
This Accident is not unlike my Dream,
Belief of it oppreffes me already.
Light, I fay, light!

Jage. Farewel; for I must leave you.
It feems not meet, nor wholfome to my place,
To be produc'd, as if I ftay, I fhall,

Against the Moor. For I do know the State,
However this may gall him with fome check,
Cannot with fafety caft him. For he's embark'd
With fuch loud reafon to the Cyprus Wars,
Which even now ftands in Act, that for their Souls,
Another of his fadom, they have none,

To lead their Bufinefs. In which regard,

Tho' I do hate him as I do Hell's Pains,

Yet, for neceffity of prefent Life,

I must shew out a Flag, and fign of Love,

Which is indeed but fign, that you fhall furely find him,

Lead to the Sagittary the raised Search;

And there will I be with him. So farewel.

[Exit.

Enter Brabantio in his Night-gown, with Servants and Torches.
Bra. It is too true an Evil. Gone fhe is,
And what's to come of my defpifed time,
Is nought but bitterness. Now, Rodorigo,
Where didft thou fee her? Oh unhappy Girl!

I i 4

With

With the Moor, faift thou! Who would be a Father?
How didft thou know 'twas the? Oh the decieves me
Paft thought what faid fhe to you? Get more Tapers-.-
Raife all my Kindred---are they Married, think you?
Rod. Truly I think they are.

Bra. Oh Heav'n! how gat fhe out?
Oh Treafon of my Blood!

Fathers, from hence truft not your Daughters Minds
By what you see them A&t. Are there not Charms,
By which the property of Youth and Maidhood
May be abus'd? Have you not read, Roderigo,
Of fome fuch thing?

Rod. Yes, Sir, I have indeed.

Bra. Call up my Brothers; oh would you had had her! Some one way, fome another----Do you know Where we may apprehend her, and the Moor? Rod. I think I can difcover him, if you please To get good Guard, and go along with me. Bra. Pray you lead on. At every Houfe I'll call, I may command at moft, get Weapons, hoa! And raife fome fpecial Officers of might: On, good Roderigo, I will deferve your Pains.

SCENE II. The Street.

[Exeunt.

Enter Othello, Jago, and Attendants, with Torches,
Jago. Tho' in the Trade of War I have flain Mcn,
Yet do I hold it very ftuff o'th' Confcience
To do no contriv'd Murder: I take iniquity
Sometime to do me Service. Nine or ten times
I had thought to have yerk'd him here under the Rib.
Oth. 'Tis better as it is.

Jago. Nay, but he prated,

And fpoke fuch fcurvy and provoking Terms

Againft your Honour, that with the little Godliness I have,
I did full hard forbear him. But I pray you, Sir,
Are you faft Married? Be affur'd of this,

That the Magnifico is much belov'd,

And hath in his effect a Voice potential
As double as the Duke's: He will divorce you,
Or put upon you, what Reftraint or Grievance,

The

The Law, with all his might to enforce it on,
Will give him Cable.

Oth. Let him do his fpight:

My Services, which I have done the Signory,
Shall out-tongue his Complaints. 'Tis yet to know,
Which, when I know that boafting is an Honour,
I fhall promulgate. I fetch my Life and Being,
From Men of Royal Siege; and my Demerits
May speak, unbonnetted, to as proud a Fortune.
As this that I have reach'd. For know, Jago,
But that I love the gentle Defdemona,

I would not my unhoufed free Condition
Put into Circumfcripion and Confine,

For the Seas worth. But look! what Lights come yond? Enter Caffio with Torches.

Jago. Thofe are the raised Father, and his Friends; You were beft go in.

Oth. Not I: I muft be found.

My Parts, my Title, and my perfect Soul
Shall manifeft me rightly. Is it they?

Fago. By Janus, I think no.

Oth. The Servants of the Duke, and my Lieutenant :
The Goodness of the Night upon you, Friends,
What is the News ?

Caf. The Duke does greet you, General,

And he requires your hafte, Poft-hafte appearance,
Even on the inftant.

Oth. What is the matter, think you?

Caf. Something from Cyprus, as I may divine: It is a Bufinefs of fome heat. The Gallies

Have fent a dozen fequent Meffengers

This very Night, at one anothers Heels:

And many of the Confuls, rais'd and met,

Are at the Duke's already. You have been hotly call'd for, When being not at your Lodging to be found.

The Senate hath fent about three feveral Quefts,

To fearch you out.

Oth. 'Tis well I am found by you:

I will but spend a word here in the Houfe,
And go with you.

[Exit Othello.

Caf

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